Of course, Arthur could hear the hidden meaning in Ms. Melissa's words.
But honestly, it was really inappropriate to have a sweet love affair with a cyberpsycho.
After all, "cyber madness" and "romantic dinner dates" didn't exactly go together.
What then?
Take her to a morgue for a nice autopsy show on the first date?
Arthur shivered at the thought.
"Melissa, listen. I still have a few things to handle right now.
How about this—after I finish my work, I'll treat you to dinner.
We can catch up properly then, okay?"
When in doubt, delay.
It might not solve the problem, but it bought precious time!
After a long pause, Melissa's voice finally returned:
"Well, dear Arthur, I hope you won't keep me waiting too long.
I've been very lonely... still waiting to complete our final step together after all these years."
Arthur felt goosebumps explode all over his body.
And then again.
Good lord.
He was a normal person now.
Even if he had been cured, was there a risk of cross-infection after certain "in-depth exchanges"?!
If possible, Arthur really didn't want anything to do with cyberpsychos right now.
Absolutely nothing.
Putting down the phone, Arthur turned and looked at the patient lying in the back seat.
"My brother, what do you think I should do?" Arthur sighed.
"A cyberpsycho wants to play poker with me, and I can't say no.
Otherwise, she might show up any minute and cut my head off."
The old man still wore the same calm, expressionless look, as if nothing in the world could interfere with his sacred duty of drooling all over Arthur's backseat.
He mumbled something incomprehensible while saliva soaked the leather seats.
Arthur took it seriously.
"You're saying: 'Stay still, wait for the storm to pass'?
Brother... you're a genius!
No wonder you came down with a genius disease like cyberpsychosis!"
Satisfied, Arthur nodded firmly.
Perfect plan.
Pretend nothing happened.
Then, he dialed Regina's number again.
Honestly, Arthur didn't want to drive this old stick all the way to the safehouse.
That place was ridiculously far out into the wasteland—
One trip would waste two to three hours minimum.
Arthur was a busy man.
He had to go make some real money.
"Regina," Arthur said as soon as the line connected, "the mad dogs let me go.
I'm still in northern Watson.
Can you send someone over to pick up my brother?"
On the other end of the call, Regina fell silent for a moment.
...When had the mad dogs from the Terrorist Mobile Team become so easy to talk to?
And—what kind of relationship had Arthur developed with this cyberpsycho stick in such a short time?
Were they blood brothers now?
Soulmates??
Even if Arthur really was still half-cyberpsycho, shouldn't they have started fighting on sight?
Wasn't that what cyberpsychos did?
Something... was definitely wrong with the universe today.
"Regina? Are you still there?" Arthur urged.
"Oh—listening, listening," Regina said hurriedly. "I'm locating your position now.
Just stay where you are. I'll send someone immediately."
A few minutes later, a yellow car pulled up next to Arthur.
A man in a black suit and sunglasses got out silently, like some secret service agent.
Without a word, he walked over, opened Arthur's back door—
And grabbed the patient by his hair.
"Hey! Hey! Hey!"
Arthur immediately jumped up.
"Show some respect to my philosopher brother!"
He had just given Arthur such insightful advice, okay!
How dare you treat him so roughly after he saved my life with his deep wisdom?!
The middle-aged man paused.
He had heard plenty about how strange cyberpunks were...
But seeing was believing.
After a moment's hesitation, the man asked, confused but polite:
"Then... how should I carry him?"
Arthur touched his chin seriously.
"You can't just yank out the few strands of hair he has left, right?
Do you know how expensive hair transplants are nowadays?"
The man nodded solemnly.
As a fellow man, he understood.
Then, without a word, he grabbed the old man's custom super-invincible whirlwind steel cannon (the weapon welded to his broken body) and gently hauled him into the yellow car.
Arthur nodded with satisfaction, then casually stepped on the gas and drove toward the Ritz Bar.
Don't get me wrong—he wasn't going there to "enjoy" anything.
He was looking for Judy.
He needed someone to edit the Mewtwo footage he just scored.
Business was business!
Besides, it would be good to catch up on what had changed in Night City over the past ten-plus years.
As the sun dipped below the skyline, Arthur's car finally pulled into Little Chinatown.
The neon signs were already buzzing to life.
He parked casually on the curb.
Not his car anyway.
If someone stole it, he'd just grab another one.
In Night City, being a five-star good citizen meant... a flexible interpretation of the law.
Arthur got out and stretched, basking in the pink neon glow.
Huge, garish neon murals of curvy women towered over the entrance to the Ritz.
Baseball bats, axes, and guns were clutched in their cartoonishly oversized hands.
A clear message:
This place wasn't just about pleasure.
It was about power.
Violence and pleasure, hand-in-hand.
Classic Night City.
At the door stood two members of the Mox Gang.
Plastic-shiny skin, colorful hair, bubblegum in their mouths, curves to kill for,
and—hidden beneath those curves—enough firepower to take down a platoon.
One of the women, with fluorescent pink hair, noticed Arthur.
She blew a pink bubble, popped it, and grinned.
"Wow.
Never seen you before, handsome uncle."
Arthur scratched his chin.
Handsome, huh?
He could get used to hearing that.
"It's normal you haven't seen me before," Arthur said with a smirk.
"I just got back to Night City.
And today, I decided to come to the famous Ritz Bar... to have a little fun."
The Mox girl laughed and winked.
"Arthur, how have you fallen so low?"
Arthur shrugged.
"Carpe diem, darling.
In this city, you never know when you'll die in a stinky ditch.
Might as well live it up while you can."
He pushed open the heavy bar door, stepping into a wave of music, neon, and the electric scent of danger.